by Vic Tyler
“Adriana —” His voice is gruff and almost exasperated.
“Can you help me?” I blurt out. My face is burning hot now. I’ve never put myself out there like this before. “You don’t have to touch me. I just want to know what it feels like.”
“I’m not the right person for this,” he grits. “You should ask Kitty.”
He is the right person. He’s the only person I feel comfortable asking, even if I haven’t seen him in two years. He’s the only man that I want to see me as a woman.
“She’d never let me live it down.” I grimace.
Even if Damien says ‘no,’ I wouldn’t ask her.
His expression mirrors mine. He knows it’s true.
“You’re the only one I can ask. You know me, you’re experienced, and I’m comfortable with you. I trust you.”
His eyebrows stitch together, and his voice lowers harshly. “You shouldn’t.”
“But I do.”
“I should leave.” He steps forward.
“Damien —”
“No, Adriana,” he says firmly. “Move.”
“Wait, please —”
“I said ‘no.’ I heard your request, and I’m saying ‘no.’”
“I think there’s something wrong with me!” My heart pounds frantically in my chest at the confession.
He stares at me, but I can’t bear to look him in the eye.
Bile roils in my stomach, threatening to rise.
“I tried to do it myself. I still try all the time, but nothing. I don’t feel anything.” I swallow a hard lump through my dry throat. My voice drops as regret and bitterness wrestle inside me. “It just feels like they’re touching me all over again, and it’s disgusting. Nothing about it feels good, and I just don’t get it. I want to. I want to feel normal. It’s not fair that they took this away from me too. It’s a constant reminder that I’m damaged goods. That I’m broken.”
“You’re not.” He sounds stunned and lost. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“That’s not true.” My eyes burn with unshed tears, and the heaviness in my chest is suffocating.
I don’t want him to see me cry. I don’t want him to see how broken I am.
I’ve tried with guys from school. If someone showed an interest in me and I generally liked him, then I let him kiss me and touch me. I never let it go too far because I’m not ready to have someone inside me again, and I’m not sure if I ever will.
But whenever I sat in the back of a car or in one of their rooms or in an empty classroom, I felt nothing.
The kisses were hollow, boring, and sloppy. Their fingers jabbed inside me, and I’m pretty sure I got chafed a few times because I was so dry.
I never understood how some women just gush out their arousal. And I’ve read lots of romance novels to try and understand it.
Even when I touch myself, it bothers me instead of feeling good, and I bruise myself in the process.
It’s frustrating. Humiliating. Degrading.
I can’t orgasm, I can’t even get turned on, and I’m not attracted to anyone.
Except Damien.
It has to be him. He’s the only one I can ask.
But he doesn’t want me.
“I’m sorry.” I tear past him in a rush. I can’t bear to be anywhere near him lest I start crying. “I should’ve never asked.”
“Adriana.” He grabs my wrist, and his touch is hot and comforting. “I’ll do it. I’ll try to help you.”
His grip is steady, which makes me realize that I’m trembling.
God, this is so frustrating and embarrassing.
I try to discreetly wipe away an errant tear. “You don’t have to. I should’ve never asked.”
“I want to help you. I don’t know how I can, and I can’t promise anything. But at the very least, I’ll help you figure out your next steps.” His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, and the rough, callused pad on my soft skin makes me shudder. “If you want me to leave, I will.”
I shake my head. Honestly, I can’t imagine getting into the mood after feeling this upset, but I don’t want him to leave. Not yet.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks softly, hesitantly.
I want you to give me unspeakable pleasure. I want to know what it feels like to be so lost in it that I scream. I want to know what you feel like inside me. I want to give you the same ecstasy.
I want you.
“I don’t know.” It’s not like I can tell him any of that. I swallow hard, steeling my resolve. If I look him in the face right now, I’ll probably chicken out. “C–can you see if I’m doing it right?”
His fingers twitch on my wrist, and it’s silent for a moment.
The heat of his hand burns my wrist, but I don’t want him to let go.
“Adriana, I —” He sounds pained. Conflicted.
And I feel terrible.
This was a mistake.
This is worse than kissing him. I’m asking him to see me at my most intimate. My most vulnerable. And this is crossing so many boundaries that we’ll never be the same again.
“Alright.”
My hand drops back to my side as he releases his hold on me.
I slowly turn. His expression is neutral, masking his thoughts and feelings perfectly.
I hate how well everyone hides themselves. Would it really kill them to be honest and transparent occasionally?
It’s so awkward now, and regret is starting to ramp up tenfold by the second.
“How do you want me?” I ask timidly.
Something flashes through his face, and my heart immediately bursts into a rapid pace.
It disappeared instantly, but for a moment, his aura was like that of a predator. Dark. Feral. Dangerous.
“On the bed.” He nods his head towards it, watching as I slowly make my way over.
Instead of following me, he pulls out one of the wooden chairs circling the table, placing it more than a yard away before sitting on it.
I begrudgingly don’t say anything.
How is he going to see from all the way over there? If he really doesn’t want to do this, he should leave and save us both the embarrassment.
Plopping down on my plush, pink comforter, I shift uncomfortably, kicking my legs off the side of the bed. “What now?”
His jaw clenches. “You wanted to show me.”
I nod slowly. Up and down. Up and down.
Stalling.
This is going so much worse than I imagined. I don’t even know what I thought would happen, but this is about as bad as it can get.
My voice shrinks. “Do you want me to take my clothes off?”
I don’t know why I’m asking him, but it seems appropriate.
He looks just as uncomfortable as me, and I can’t imagine stripping myself bare for him to see while he’s fully clothed.
“No.”
I don’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed.
Taking deep breaths, I try to calm my racing heart. It’s trying to run away from this catastrophe, just like the rest of me should be doing.
But it’d be too awkward at this point to tell Damien to leave, and it’s not like I can ask him to stick around and play Scrabble with me.
We sit motionlessly in silence for a couple minutes.
Time stretches on forever, and if it weren’t for the tension in the room, I almost wouldn’t mind just spending the seconds with Damien here.
His voice breaks through the crackling of the fireplace, sounding eager. “Do you want me to go?”
Maybe I should say ‘yes.’ Maybe I should tell him to forget this ever happened, and let’s go back to being whatever we were.
Except we’re nothing now.
We’re not friends, we’re not a pseudo–sibling duo, we’re not even on easygoing, friendly terms.
We’re not anything.
And that gives me the motivation to hike my skirt up.
My breath hitches when the hem passes my hips, displaying
my lacy cherry blossom panties.
I curse inwardly. Why did I choose these panties? Why is everything so pink?
I should’ve worn that pink lingerie set that Kitty gave me, but it didn’t even occur to me until just now. Ugh. Now, I just look like a little girl.
Damien just watches me as my fingers slip under the thin waistband and stroke my hairless mound.
I shaved it for the first time in anticipation of this, and I was astounded at how utterly naked it looks. It feels so bare and smooth and weird.
My fingers brush over it back and forth, poking into my skin. The flesh is so cushiony and stretchy. Was it always like this? I can’t even remember.
Blinking, I realize I got sidetracked, distracted by the unfamiliar plushness of my groin.
Damien’s expression hasn’t changed, although the tension around him seems to have loosened a bit.
Does he think I’m strange for platonically playing with my own crotch?
Ugh, I bet none of the women he’s been with do that. They’re probably all sexy and confident and sparkly and shiny down there. He must think I’m such a weirdo.
Despite the rising warmth in my face, I try not to look embarrassed as I lower my fingers to the little nub between my folds.
Pressing down on it, I start rubbing, emulating the same pressure I felt whenever someone else touched me.
I wince when a shock of pain shoots through my clit.
Apparently, some women like pain, but this doesn’t feel good at all.
“Gently.” Damien’s voice takes on a low, commanding tone, which makes my belly flutter.
The humid warmth near my fingertips grows, and I feel a slight tingle between my legs.
Which disappears when he starts snickering. “You won’t hit the jackpot scratching that off.”
Glaring at him, I feel all the blood rushing to my face. I’m even starting to sweat. “My odds for winning the lottery might be better.”
His lips press together, and I immediately regret my words.
I don’t want him to pity me. It’s one thing for me to know I’m broken, but I don’t want him to think of me that way.
With a stoic expression, he says, “Touch your clit lightly. Put just enough pressure that you feel it, until it feels comfortable, but don’t press too hard.”
My body shudders at his words. He’s saying them so clinically, but it still sounds dirty hearing them from his mouth.
“Go slowly. Move in different directions. Try rubbing it back and forth and in circles. Which one feels better?”
I bite my lip, trying both of the things he said.
It tickles, but it doesn’t feel bad. If anything, it makes me want to do it more to get rid of that weird itchy non–itch under my skin.
The unsettled restlessness deep inside me starts to grow, and my breathing starts to shallow.
“Which one feels better?”
My heart races at Damien’s deep, demanding tone. His voice is quiet, but it’s gotten lower, almost like a growl. He hasn’t budged an inch, but his presence fills the room even more than before, surrounding me.
“I like the circles.” My voice is breathy, and my lungs feel tight. “And then stroking it back and forth this way.”
His eyes drop to where I’m touching myself under my panties.
He watches me for a moment before he finally says, “Move your underwear to the side.”
His gaze pierces through me. Demanding. Dominating. Expecting me to do exactly as he says. As he commands.
My thighs clench immediately, but the rest of me is frozen.
He wants to watch me touch myself? I mean, he wants to see everything–everything?
The air around me is hot, and it’s getting hard to breathe.
My body is burning up. My cheeks, my chest, and my groin. Especially my… my vagina.
It feels like a long, hot emptiness inside of me that I’ve never noticed before.
“If you don’t show me, I can’t see what you’re doing.”
He wants to watch me. He wants to see what I’m doing. Dare I say he even likes it?
“Can you see me from over there?” I breathe.
He stares at me, his gaze unreadable, still in the same statuesque pose he’s been in this whole time.
“No.”
He stands and strides over.
“Lie back on the bed,” he commands. “Feet up on either side.”
I blush. That’d expose me completely. I’d be spreading myself wide open for him to see everything.
An embarrassing whimper escapes me, and his expression darkens.
“Now, Adriana.”
Immediately, I scoot back and stretch my legs apart.
Oh, my god. Did I really just do that?
I’m breathing hard — confused, dazed, hot.
“Push those pretty pink panties to the side.”
He thinks my panties are pretty? How does he make it sound so dirty?
My pussy is burning now. Aching.
Hooking a finger under the gusset, I tug it to the side.
Oh, my god. They’re soaked!
His eyes travel over all of my sex, studying it carefully.
My skin tingles, and the air feels cold over my moist slit.
How does he stay so still? How isn’t he affected by this?
Maybe he’s just not attracted to me. Maybe I was wrong about him liking this.
“Show me.”
I breathe heavily as I stare up at him.
He towers over me, the fire behind him casting his face into a dark shadow that blankets me too.
He looks beautiful and dangerous. He looks like Damien, sounds like Damien, but I feel like I don’t know this Damien.
But oh, god, I want to.
My fingers move slowly back onto my clit, and without the restraint of my underwear, my lower lips move and nudge with my motions.
Damien’s gaze is fixed to where I’m touching myself.
“Rub harder and faster.” His lips twitch. “Just a little bit.”
I do, and the pressure filling inside me is building to a needy throb. It feels good.
Really good.
I moan.
And clap my hand over my mouth. My eyes widen.
Oh, no. That was so humiliating. I sound so lewd and whiny.
Damien’s eyes are pitch black as they lock onto mine. “Hand down, Adriana. Don’t stop yourself. Make as much noise as you want. As much as you need to.”
His words make me squirm, and my fingers move faster, picking up the same pace from before.
My chest rises and falls rapidly with quickening breaths.
This time, when the sounds beg to burst out, I let them. I moan and grit out cries, biting my lip.
So much pressure is building up inside me, I need to let it all out. I need my release.
“Stop.”
I groan my complaint as my fingers stop moving. But I can’t help reacting to his words.
I pant, watching him watch me.
“Not yet.” The corner of his mouth tugs into a smirk. “You’re not allowed to come yet.”
My breath comes out as an incredulous sputter. “Why do I need your permission?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Why did you stop?”
I swallow hard.
Because… he told me to. Because he’s controlling what I do. Every single one of my movements. He’s in charge. He’s commanding me. Dominating me. Like I’m his.
Oh, god, yes. I’m his.
“Slide your finger over your pussy, but don’t go inside.”
His gaze follows my fingers as I follow his orders.
“Feel it.” He definitely growls it this time. “Tell me how wet you are.”
I’m covered with the thick, hot liquid seeping out of my slit. “I–I’m very wet.”
“Soaking,” he murmurs. His eyes rise to meet mine. “Use your other hand to play with your breasts.”
“W–what?” I blurt in an incredulous breath.
> “Grab your breast,” he commands.
Without another word, I push my bra up and cup my boob. He wants me to obey him, and I don’t have time to take my bra off properly.
“Squeeze it. Massage it. Really feel it under your fingers and palm.”
Even though I’ve touched my own boobs before, it feels different now. In combination with how I’m touching my pussy, the sensations are so much stronger, and my breasts feel so sensitive.
“Pull your shirt up,” he demands. “You’re going to show me everything you’re doing.”
All my private parts are exposed to him now, and even though I’m embarrassed, the need to obey him and to see him drink me in greedily is overwhelming.
“Pinch your nipple. Tug it out until it’s nice and hard. Roll it between your fingers.”
I groan, my hips bucking when that pressure on my hard nub shoots pleasure throughout my body.
“Keep your fingers moving over your pussy. Collect that juice and rub it onto your clit. Just like that,” he rumbles. “Keep going.”
It’s leaking out of me. How does he do that? How does me make me so wet?
“Slide your fingers down and press into your slit. Slowly. Push two fingers in. That’s it.” His voice sounds strained. “How tight are you?”
I try to keep my wits together. The emptiness inside is only slightly alleviated by my fingers, but it’s not enough. I need something longer and thicker.
“Tell me how tight you are,” Damien commands, his voice thick and heavy.
“So tight,” I moan. “So, so tight. It’s squeezing my fingers.”
“Say it for what it is. Your pussy.”
“Y–yes,” I gasp. “My pussy. My pussy is squeezing my fingers so tight.”
“Good girl.”
A desperate little cry bursts out of me.
I don’t know why it thrills me to hear that, but he’s pleased with me, and it feels so good.
“Keep touching your breasts. Give the other one the same attention.”
“Y–yes,” I gasp.
“Keep moving your fingers inside that gorgeous little pussy. You want it harder, don’t you? Faster?”
I whimper my response.
“That’s it. Fuck your pussy harder and faster. Grind against your palm. Curl your fingers in and rub that rough spot on your inner wall.”
